


Unlikely Suspect

by WitchyBee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: Martin gives Jon a ride home in the aftermath of the Prentiss incident.





	Unlikely Suspect

“I’m going to figure this out, and I’m not going to stop. They’ll have to kill me first. End recording.”

The tape recorder clicks off and, despite his conviction, Jon’s resolve begins to crumble a bit. With all his colleagues' statements taken, and the resulting headache gaining strength, It’s all starting to catch up to him. The painkillers have definitely worn off. He can still feel the phantom itch of worms writhing, burrowing beneath his skin. It’s not real. He knows that. Prentiss is, supposedly, dead. He’s (probably) not being watched either. Except perhaps by Gertrude’s killer. But that doesn’t make the fear go away.

He’s just so goddamn tired. He hasn’t slept since…well, before quarantine anyway. Can’t sleep here though, even if sleep was a possibility. It isn’t safe. 

“Jon?” Martin asks, hovering uncertainly in his office doorway.

“What?” he snaps.

“Well, um, Tim’s gone home to recover. And Elias said you should, too.”

“Yes, Martin, I was there when he threatened to call security.”

“Right, well, I was wondering if you needed anything before you go? Cup of tea? I could give you a ride home, even. You look... I-I mean, you look fine, but–”

Martin looks concerned. Worried. No, he looks guilty. Why? What does he want?

“Why is it so important to you that you help me?”

“Because you’re injured? I want to help, that’s sort of what I do, or try to. And it’s - it’s my fault, isn’t it? I basically lured Prentiss here, and I abandoned you and Tim in the tunnels. I really am so sorry again, Jon, I–”

“Martin.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up...please. I already said it’s fine. And I appreciate the offer, but I am quite capable of taking the tube. Now if you’ll excuse me–”

He stands up, but his leg simply refuses to cooperate and gives out entirely. It hurts almost as much as the corkscrew, and next thing he knows Martin is holding him upright.

“God, Jon, are you ok– nope, stupid question. Right, okay. I’m taking you home,” Martin says in a tone that makes it clear there will be no debate.

“How do you know where I live?” Jon demands, in a daze of paranoia and pain.

“I...I don’t? You’ll have to give me the address.”

“Ask Elias,” Jon mumbles, his face pressed into Martin’s soft jumper, pain throbbing behind his closed eyes. He’s suddenly more at peace with his impending death.

 

* * *

 

 

They make their way out of the Institute slowly, Jon relying on Martin’s support more than he would like. He’ll be needing a cane at this rate. The midsummer heat does very little to clear his head either. Then they are alone in Martin’s car. If someone wanted to finish what Jane Prentiss had started, he thinks distantly, now would be the perfect time.

“Why did you bring the tape recorder?” Martin wonders, not taking his eyes off the road. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, just genuine curiosity.

“I–” Jon looks down and, sure enough, he’s holding a tape recorder. He doesn’t remember picking it up. “In case of...I don’t know. Statements.”

Martin frowns slightly. “You need to let yourself rest and heal, Jon. You don’t have to record any statements while you’re away. Sasha and I, we could record some–”

“No!”

The outburst catches them both off guard.

Jon sighs. “Sorry," he continues, calmer. "It’s...the statements, the real ones that don’t record digitally, they can be a bit...overwhelming. I won’t have you or anyone else dealing with that on my behalf. It’s my job. My responsibility.”

Of course, that isn't the only reason. The statements are the key to...something. He has to find out what it is before it kills him, too, and he cannot risk his assistants getting in the way, or hurt, or...

“But what about you, Jon? If they’re really as bad as you claim, then how are you dealing with it?”

Jon doesn’t say: _I’m not. I can’t sleep without nightmares, and that was before the worms. I’m being watched. I don’t know what’s happening to me._

Jon does say, “With cigarettes and denial, until recently.” Then, seeing Martin’s expression, adds, “That was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t. Look, I’m just worried that something bad – er, worse – could happen to you if you keep pushing people away.”

Is that a threat? No...of course not.

The car stops. It’s suddenly very quiet save for the gentle whirring of the tape recorder. They are outside Jon’s flat. Never has he been more grateful to live on the first floor.

“You can’t protect us from this stuff anymore. Whatever’s going on, I’m scared too,” Martin tells him. “None of us signed up for worms and...and, well, all of it. Almost dying. But I– we can help, if you let us. You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know.”

But Jon does not know that at all. He’s drowning in an endless ocean of unknown things. So many damn mysteries. Until he has some answers he cannot afford to trust anyone. Everyone in the archives - hell, in the Institute - is a potential suspect in Gertrude's murder. And as much as he wants a cup of tea right now, that includes Martin. An unlikely suspect remains a suspect.

“Thank you for the ride,” he says, exiting the car as quickly as his wounded leg will permit. “Goodbye, Martin.”

Martin calls after him, of course, but he doesn’t try to follow as Jon limps inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @podcastenthusiast.


End file.
